


drowning on dry land

by SadieFlood



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 01, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 01:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/pseuds/SadieFlood
Summary: Life goes on.  For the living, anyway.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	drowning on dry land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chainofclovers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainofclovers/gifts).

_three hours later_

Jen tells the story over and over, and it gets easier each time.

Calm, but not cold. Upset, but not hysterical.

They keep asking her to start from the beginning.

She might have panicked at first; it's a little hard to remember. But as she waited for Judy to show up, the plan just snapped into place.

Well, it might not have been the first plan that crossed her mind.

Protecting herself and what was left of her family would be easy. Once Judy saw Steve and realized what Jen had been forced to do, her guilt would propel her to the police station. If Jen didn't stop her, she'd confess to the crime she didn't commit in order to receive the proper punishment for the crime she _did_ commit. Nick would certainly believe it.

If this had happened a few hours ago, or yesterday, Jen wouldn't have felt remotely guilty about that outcome. It would have felt like justice. Anyway, if she _had_ felt guilty, she would have just ignored the guilt long enough for it to congeal and become indistinguishable from anger and/or grief, her constant companions.

But that was then, and now she thinks her conscience might object to letting Judy fall on her sword. No one should go to jail over _Steve_.

The facts are clear. Jen found out Steve was responsible for her husband's death. He came looking for Judy. She wasn't there. Jen and Steve argued about Ted. And Judy. Steve became angry. He charged at her. She was frightened. She acted in defense of herself, her family, her home. The end.

For Steve, anyway.

It's easy. It's almost the truth.

She knows that eventually the impact of taking a life, even this particular life, will catch up with her, and she'll probably carry it until she's the one rotting in the ground.

But not yet.

One fucking crisis at a time.

She takes a deep breath and starts again, from the beginning.

*

_three days later_

Judy dreams of the life before this.

In the dream, she's unencumbered. Weightless. She rewinds, keeps going until it's all gone, back before Ted, back before she even met Steve. Back, back, back. She's calm, free, capable of happiness.

She's capable of standing up straight instead of being crushed, constantly, by grief, and guilt, and self-hatred.

Well.

Two out of three isn't bad, right?

She looks up to see Jen standing before her, and it all comes rushing back.

She wants to reach out, take both of Jen's hands, but when she gets closer, Jen's expression hardens.

Jen opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a long, low howl. All of the pain that Judy's caused her, translated into sound.

Judy covers her ears. She's crying, maybe; she tastes salt.

She tries to say, "I'm sorry." Instead she says, "I love you."

Then she wakes up.

*

_three weeks later_

Life goes on.

For the living, at least.

The kids have places to be, and Jen has to keep working.

That cashier's check is right where she left it That Night, but it just doesn't seem like a great idea for either Steve's murderer or his ex to start spending his laundered money. Not right away.

Judy's sitting in the kitchen like nothing ever happened, which sets Jen's teeth on edge, but what's the alternative? Where's she going to go? And Jen has as much reason to be penitent as Judy does, not that she's planning to prostrate herself any time soon.

“I can't miss it,” Henry is whining. She's already missed the explanation of "it," but apparently attendance is mandatory.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jen fixes her with a look. _Like what? Drive?_ If she really wanted to help, maybe she could get a _job_.

She gets the message. "Never mind, I--never mind."

Henry sighs. “Are you guys fighting again? I thought you made up.”

“No,” they say in unison.

“Judy just forgot that she has somewhere to be today,” Jen says. She wonders if she should feel worse about lying. “But if you can be ready—and I mean _in the car_\--in the next 40 seconds, I'll drive you.”

Henry spends five of his 40 seconds regarding them suspiciously, then scampers off.

“Jen, I am so--”

“Sorry, I know,” Jen says. “Stop it. Do you know that every single time you apologize, it instantly reminds me of every single fucked up thing that's happened to me because of you?”

She waits for Judy to say _I'm sorry_ again, but she doesn't. She's just looking at Jen sadly, like a freshly-kicked puppy.

“Let's just keep moving forward," Jen says, trying to sound a little kinder. "We're even now. Remember?” It's almost the truth.

Judy doesn't react, like she didn't hear Jen at all.

She snaps her fingers. "Hello, space cadet?"

Nothing.

Jen follows her downward gaze. Judy's staring at her hands.

Weird.

She checks her watch. Unfortunately, she has neither the time nor the inclination to figure out what the fuck is going on inside Judy's head today, so she just leaves her there to sort it out for herself.

That'll probably come back to bite her, but, whatever.

One crisis at a time.

*

_three months later_

“I could ruin you with one phone call.”

Jen's tone is casual. She might as well have suggested ordering pizza.

Judy freezes like a deer in--

Well. She freezes.

Then, very slowly, she places the unopened yogurt back on the shelf and closes the refrigerator door.

“I didn't mean—really? You think I'd threaten you over yogurt?” Jen looks offended, or amused. Maybe both.

“Well, it's your house, so you'd be within your rights,” Judy says carefully. “I guess that was just a reminder, then?”

“I wasn't done. You could ruin me, too.”

“I would never--”

Jen shakes her head. “If you're going to keep staying here--”

“If you want me to leave--”

“Jesus, stop it,” Jen says. “I'm not kicking you out and I don't give a fuck about yogurt. I was going to say, I want to start over.”

Judy doesn't say anything.

“I'll go first.” She sticks her hand out. “Hi, I'm Jen. My husband's dead. i killed the asshole who was responsible, and I should feel bad about it, but I don't. I actually feel a lot calmer now.”

Judy blinks.

Jen doesn't move.

She shakes Jen's hand. “Nice to meet you. I'm Judy. Chaos follows me everywhere I go.”

“Cool,” Jen says. “Wine?”

Relief surges through Judy. “Sure.”

A clean slate sounds awfully nice. Even if it's just pretend.

They finish off one bottle, then another, and it really is like old times, except without the sword of Damocles suspended above Judy's head.

“I missed this,” she says, eyeing Jen cautiously.

But Jen just says, “I kind of did, too.”

“It's late.” Judy stands up and holds a hand out to Jen. “You need some help getting to bed?”

Jen scoffs, but she can hardly stand, let alone walk without help. It's possible that the wine was not evenly divided.

Judy helps her into the house, into the bedroom, into bed.

Jen clings to her arm when she turns to leave. She sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Why are you so fucking nice to me, after everything?”

“What are you talking about? We just met tonight," Judy says lightly. "Remember?”

“Oh, right.” Jen releases her. “That doesn't answer my question.”

Judy hesitates. “You want to know the real reason?”

“No, I want you to lie to me, because that's worked out _so_ well.”

She could retreat to her own bed, leave Jen's question unanswered, and everything would be fine. Jen wouldn't even remember in the morning, or at least she'd do Judy the courtesy of pretending. But she wants the truth, so Judy takes a deep breath. “I love you,” she says, and waits for everything to fall apart. Again. Where will she go? She probably should have thought of that before.

Jen's expression is unreadable, but at least she's not shrieking. Yet. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” Judy says. “I really am.”

The path forward snaps into place. Now or never.

She leans over and presses her lips against Jen's, softly and tentatively, waiting for a reaction. _I'm straight, Judy. Strictly dickly. Obviously. I mean, that's how we got into this mess, right?_ Or, even more likely, _I don't trust you, and I never, ever will_. 

But Jen sits perfectly still.

She bites back the urge to apologize.

Finally, Jen says, “This is going to make things fucking _weird_.”

“I warned you,” she says, only slightly miserable. “Chaos.”

“Cool,” Jen says, and kisses her back, hungry and a little vicious. “Why the fuck not?”

But when the time comes to move beyond middle-school making out, Jen becomes visibly uncomfortable. “Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?” she asks, with her hand up Jen's shirt.

“It's fine,” Jen says. “I just—it's a lot, okay?”

“I'll stop.” Judy is resolute. She withdraws. “Until you're comfortable with--”

“Don't you fucking dare,” Jen says, grabbing her hand and placing it back in its previous position. “Just go slow."

As it turns out, Judy is remarkably good at taking direction.

*

_three years later_

Jen dreams of the life before this.

But not her life.

In the dream, _she's_ Judy, and she does everything right.

First, that night in the car, her heart is racing and the only discernible sound over the blood pounding in her ears is Steve's voice, screaming at her to _go. _

Rewind.

This time she stops. She tells Steve to fuck off forever and leaves him on the side of the road. She does her court-ordered penance and moves on with her life.

Second, she's upfront with Jen from the beginning. They get to know each other for real. She never has to smash it all to bits by telling the truth. Jen's words never sharpen into weapons.

Judy never says _I'm so sorry_, but she still says _I love you._

Jen opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out.

Then she wakes up.

Beside her, Judy stirs, always on alert. “Everything okay?”

“Just a stupid dream,” Jen says without opening her eyes. “Don't worry about it.” She's on her stomach, head turned away, with her arm slung across Judy.

“You know, you really shouldn't sleep like that.”

“I probably shouldn't do a lot of things that feel fucking amazing." Jen's voice is muffled by the pillow. “But life is short.”

“So why the fuck not,” Judy agrees. “Good night again. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jen says, and she tries every day not to remember a time when that wasn't true.

Still fucking weird, though.


End file.
